


Mechanical

by Trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, Pre-Stanford, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The impala has a flat. Dean makes Sam fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mechanical

**Author's Note:**

> For Ella, who is officially into Wincest now thanks to Playthings.  
> Not underage - set in the summer before Stanford.

Based on [this amazing image](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/3b/27/a3/3b27a312f01019fd53e2f08acb54357d.jpg)

"Dude. Do it yourself."

Dean smirks. "Nope. You owe me."

Sam stares at him, incredulously. "Since when?"

"Friday twelfth. You were the teacher, I was the student who needed an A."

The blush that floods Sam's face is adorable. He shifts his weight and folds his arms. "Fine. But if I fuck up the impala for your...perverted fantasy...you can explain it to dad."

Dean leans against the hood of the car and smiles, slow and lazy. "I'm not paying you to stand around yappin', boy," he drawls.

Sam hesitates, like he is maybe waiting for Dean to laugh and tell him it's just a joke, but it never happens. Instead, Dean pushes himself away from the car and stalks across the yard towards Sam who, in turn, backs up toward the garage. 

"You not hear me, boy?" Dean asks, voice low and rough. "You gonna do as I say, or am I gonna have to call your boss?"

Sam cowers, knows it what Dean wants. "N-no, sir," he stammers, his back hitting the shelving unit against the wall. "I'll do it." They stand there, so close their toes are touching, for a full minute. When Dean steps back Sam almost falls over, pulls himself together enough to gather the tools he needs and find the jack. He's changed car tires before, sure, but he's never been allowed to touch the impala. Never wanted to, either - the threat of what would happen to him if he so much as left a finger print on it was always enough to turn him off. Now, though...

Dean watches the entire time, making Sam feel clumsy and awkward. He drops the wrench more than once and curses, wiping his dirty hands on his vest. He grabs the spare tire and rolls it towards the car, gets halfway when Dean steps in front of him. "What now?" Sam snaps. He lays the tire down and wipes an oily hand across the back of his forehead. 

Dean grabs him roughly, shoving him against the wall and kissing him roughly. He breaks away, panting, presses hot kisses to the dirty skin of Sam's neck. "Want to fuck you, Sammy," he utters, voice sending jolts of arousal straight through Sam. "Wanna fuck you so hard."

Sam moans softly and cants his hips forward, feeling the hard line of Dean's erection press against his thigh. "Want you to," he murmurs, "want you to. But Dean...dad and Bobby are..."

"Yeah. So you'll have to be quiet, won't you?" Dean spins him around and presses him face-first against the wall, hands reaching around his waist to unfasten his pants. He pulls them down to Sam's thighs and pushes two fingers between his legs, pushing against him. Sam gasps and reflexively pushes back onto Dean's hand. "Did you prepare for this, Sammy?"

Sam shakes his head and groans as Dean pushes both fingers inside him. "Uh-uh. I woke up and I was...you weren't there so I..." Dean twists his finger _just so_ and Sam's knees almost buckle. 

"That's so hot," Dean whispers, lips brushing the side of Sam's neck. Fucking him slowly with one hand, the other makes quick work of his own pants and he jerks himself off. "God," he breathes, lining himself up. "Anybody could just walk past."

That's not something Sam had even thought about until now, and he isn't as terrified by the prospect as he ought to be. Rather, he is incredibly turned on. He goes to say something but then Dean pushes all the way in with one thrust and Sam bites down hard on his bottom lip. Sure, he had fingered himself, and sure, he had used lube. But this is _Dean_ and he has gone in _dry_ and the burn is the most incredible thing Sam has ever felt. Sam puts his hand on Dean's gripping his hip. "Wait," he whimpers, "just a second."

Dean dances his fingers across Sam's hipbone and slips it in front of him, palming his dick as Sam adjusts. Bracing himself with both hands flat on the wall Sam nods. "'Kay," he says, "M'okay."

Dean fucks him just as hard as he had promised and neither of them are going to last long at this rate but hell, that's the whole point. Dean's thrusts are relentless and deep and he hits Sam's spot every single time. They find their own rhythm, one Sam has never been able to find with anybody else. Dean's hand on his cock, the other pulling him back against him with every thrust. Breathlessly he whimpers in Sam's ear. "Gonna come, Sammy," he moans, "gonna come inside you."

And Sam comes hard, bucking into Dean's hand fisted around his cock. A second later Dean follows, biting down hard on the skin of Sam's neck and groaning. 

"Dean?" John yells from the distance. 

Sam's head whips round as though struck and he pulls away, quickly stuffing himself back in his pants and adjusting his clothes. Dean does the same, hands fumbling with his fly. 

"Dean?" John calls again.

"We're in the garage," Dean calls back, his eyes fixed on Sam who doesn't know what to do with himself. He smiles, a smile only reserved for Sam, and grabs the discarded wrench from the floor. Sam reaches for the tire, just for some stage business, just as John rounds the corner.

John stops in the entrance to the garage, and Sam's stomach sinks. He surveys the scene and narrows his eyes. "Boys," he says, his voice a low warning that his sons and demons alike have come to fear. 

"Sir," Dean replies, with a curt nod.

"You so much as leave a greasy fingerprint on that car and I'll shoot you both in a place you better pray grows back, you hear me?"

"Yessir," Dean and Sam mumble together.

John nods, seemingly satisfied, and walks away. Sam waits until his footsteps are inaudible before letting out a relieved breath. "Shit."

Dean laughs, almost hysterically, runs a hand across his face. "Woah. That was..."

"Hot."

"Anyway." Dean goes back to where he was, leaning against the wall at the back of the garage. "Change that tire, bitch."

Sam shoots him a glare. "Jerk," he replies, but gets to work anyway.


End file.
